


A pot of honey

by orphan_account



Series: The Days before the Storm [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Pre Canon Era, Triumvirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Enjolras and Combeferre are doing their very best to comfort a heart-broken Courfeyrac. In a spartanic dormitory, our favourite Triumvirate make plans for the future.





	A pot of honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a very dear friend](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=a+very+dear+friend).



> Hello again,  
> this is part of the Days before the Storm series. Hope you enjoy.  
> Once again, because it's still my friend's Birthday: I love you, dear!<3

1821

He is sixteen years of age.

There is a pot of honey Courfeyrac keeps underneath his bed for “situations which call for more rigorous means”. With Courfeyrac falling in and out of love at hourly intervals, such “situations” are anything but few and far between. He has already proclaimed his undying love for the milk maid with the rosy cheeks, the shepherd boy who works on the fields next to their parade ground, the laundry girl who he could have sworn washed his sheets –and his sheets only-  so that they smelled of lavender (which Enjolras knows to be nonsense, all the sheets are washed in one vat), the post mistress and the coachman as well as several of his classmates and professors, to anyone who will listen, which is Combeferre or Enjolras most of the time.

This time it is the boy who delivers vegetables every fortnight and Courfeyrac has been over the moon for the past few weeks since he first took notice of the lad. Today however, he has seen the boy philander, flirting with the scullery maids as he was handing over the carrots, and Courfeyrac’s heart is broken once again. Upon arriving in their dormitory, Courfeyrac has flung himself dramatically onto his bed, declared that henceforth he shall never be joyful again and started wailing incessantly. Combeferre shares an exasperated look with Enjolras and rolls his eyes but lets himself sink onto the mattress next to their friend to pet his shoulder fondly. Enjolras has never been able to fully comprehend the reasons for Courfeyrac’s misery and he is not entirely convinced he has the proper means to soothe his pain so he just stands awkwardly by the foot of the bed and watches as a slender arm flings out over the edge of the mattresss and pale fingers wander over the space beneath the lath floor until they reach the glass container with the golden liquid inside. Courfeyrac pulls it to his chest and sits up with a pathetic snuffle that makes Combeferre cringe as he pushes up his glasses disapprovingly.

“You know, I have read some interesting essays lately, claiming that the consumption of sweet foods such as honey may have a negative effect on the state of one’s teeth…” he says as Courfeyrac dips several fingers into the pot and licks at the running confection, a trace of honey running down his tear streaked face.

“Tastes good, though” he mumbles with his mouth full and the case on his health is closed.

Combeferre rolls his eyes and reaches for the pot himself, agreeing silently.  He looks up at Enjolras in a way that can only be interpreted as a reproachful _Don’t you dare leave me alone with that crying mess!_ and Enjolras, caught in the act, puts down the book he has quietly picked up and sits down at the corner of the bed.

Courfeyrac sniffles, hands and face covered in honey and tears, and leans his head onto Combeferre’s shoulder, who looks at Enjolras and wordlessly commands him to say something.

Enjolras really does not know how he could possibly cheer his friend up but he hates to see Courfeyrac like this (although he is certain he will have found a new flame before long) and withal he can see Combeferre’s eyes, magnified through his thick glasses, urging him on.

“It is rather unnecessary to be upset over such a-” he attempts and immediately thinks he has started all wrong when Combeferre shakes his head at him behind Courfeyrac’s curls. Enjolras looks for words, frantically, trying to will the phrases into his mouth that might help his friend. Human nature is inscrutable to him most of the time, especially when it comes to people as impulsive and passionate as Courfeyrac. “I mean to say, I dislike seeing you sad…Etienne”

Courfeyrac smiles at him through his tears. He seems to know how difficult it is for Enjolras to say the right words. He hopes he appreciates him trying. There is a warm sticky weight on his fingers. It is Courfeyrac’s honeyed hand. Enjolras smiles back.

He does not know how much of the evening they have spent sitting on Courfeyrac’s bed, the three of them passing the now almost empty pot of honey between them. The wrecked romantic still has his head propped against Combeferre’s shoulder who has been raving raving non-stop about a new discovery in the field of the common carotid artery, which Enjolras –if he is being honest- does not even know the exact location of (and Courfeyrac, who is lying on eye level with him, seemingly does not either). As he shifts, his foot touches the open copy of Voltaire’s _Idées républicaines_ which he has read to the other boys when the day light was still sufficient. Now it is dark. They have not lit the candles.

Courfeyrac’s crying has long subsided and when Combeferre finishes his medical digressions, the dormitory turns quiet, each of them in their own thoughts, and not for the first time is it that Enjolras would like to know what they are thinking. He himself is already with one foot in Paris. He thinks about what he will do after the lycée. He thinks about all the books he has read, and about his own papers that lie hidden amongst his essays and Latin translations. He would not admit it but he can feel the hairs on his forearms sticking up at the thought. Whether out of fear or anticipation, he dare not say.

It is Courfeyrac who breaks the silence.

“I think I would like to be a lawyer” he says and Enjolras can barely make out his face in the dimness of the room. He can, however, see Combeferre jerk a little at the sound of the other boy’s voice and Enjolras smiles a little, knowing he must have fallen asleep.

“Later I mean, when we leave school” Courfeyrac amends unnecessarily. “But I want to be a proper one. Not like my useless cousin. I want to help the people who don’t have a voice”

Enjolras nods and his chin touches a sticky piece of dirty pillow where Courfeyrac’s honey-soiled hand must have been before: “Robespierre was a lawyer.”

“And you, Julien, you I’ll probably have to patch up twice a week because you have gotten yourself into some rally or other” Combeferre snickers and Courfeyrac hits him playfully.

“What are you talking about? Our Julien will be above petty rallies once we arrive in Paris. Listen to the great oracle of Courfeyrac! Hereby, I predict that this golden boy will be nothing less than head of state!” Courfeyrac tries to put on his most sincere voice – and fails miserably because, well, because he is Courfeyrac.

Enjolras chuckles but the vision has already planted itself in his brain. Courfeyrac, the famous lawyer, charming as ever, gathering a large crowd of citizens around him. Combeferre, the progressive doctor, ensuring Patria’s health with his latest discoveries; guiding him and keeping him within compass - his right hand man. And himself, a tricolour cockade pinned to his chest as he speaks to his fellow citizens, Marianne looking at him proudly.

The lawyer, the doctor and the politician. The perfect triumvirate.

He is not one to believe in things he cannot perceive with his own eyes but in that moment he can feel the future hanging over the three of them and it sends shivers down his spine. Suddenly, there is Courfeyrac’s hand on his wrist and Combeferre’s gaze on his face and he does not have to ask to know that they have had the same thought.

The last of the remaining day light disappears and their room is left in almost total darkness.

He is proud of the three of them, of what they will achieve. So inexpressibly proud. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me how you liked it. :)


End file.
